“Then what are we waiting for, an engraved invitation?” Derrick motioned toward the back of the van where Jorge crouched with his rifle in both hands. Jun Sanaga, with no firearms, but two very sharp blades in holsters on opposite sides of his belt, knelt beside him. He had one hand on the handle of the van’s right side door. He moved the handle slightly, but Jen’s “not yet,” stopped him.
“Let me try the easy way first. I’ll wow him with the motherly treatment.” She opened the passenger door and stepped out.
Where most Brookhill Elementary students were in groups, Arnold Obenchain walked home by himself. He lived in the only house up on the large hill in the middle of town. Derrick had already researched this thoroughly. Jen followed the boy for a moment, hearing the engine of the van start up. She knew Derrick was going to turn it around in case he had to follow—or run someone down. Arnold walked about twenty feet to the intersection. The crossing light said for him to wait, and he did. Just as it changed, Jen stepped in his path. She set her hands on her hips and gazed down at him.
“Excuse me,” Arnold said in a small voice, obviously annoyed she stood in his way.
“Are you Arnold?” Jen asked.
The boy seemed taken aback. It was clear from his expression he didn’t have any idea who she was. “Who wants to know?” he asked, pushing back his shoulders and inserting a tough tone into his voice.
Jen slowly dropped down, almost to one knee. She’d heard somewhere that if you dropped to a kids’ level they felt less intimidated. More likely to get ’em to talk. Not scamper away screaming at the top of his lungs and drawing cops from every corner of the globe.
“I’m a friend of your father’s.” Jen offered her friendliest smile. “He asked me to meet you after school and give you a ride home.”
Arnold’s pudgy face screwed up in confusion. He examined her, tilting his head one way and then another, contemplating the possible veracity of her statement.
“I asked what your name is,” Arnold said.
God, the slimy little brat didn’t believe her. Anger surged outward. To stifle it, she bit down on her bottom lip. “Jen. My name is Jen.” She wondered if the kid could separate the sick/sweet sound of her tone from something real.
“My dad never talked about you.”
“Your father was hoping we would meet today, it was supposed to be a surprise. In fact, he thought this would be a good opportunity for us to get to know each other.”
“My dad said that?” Arnold asked, more confused than ever.
Jen reached out to put a hand on his shoulder, but the boy stepped backward, looking a little embarrassed. His eyes darted left and right. Was he looking to see if any friends were watching the pretty lady touching him? Or was he searching for someone to come rescue him?
“Do you see that white van over there?” Jen pointed over her shoulder. Derrick had indeed turned the van around. It faced them about a half block back.
Arnold’s gaze switched from the van back to her, coming about level with her waist. Could the little shit see the bulge from her gun? Wouldn’t he just assume it was a cell phone? Sure, everyone had cell phones these days.
“Have you ever seen a vehicle that large, Arnold?”
“Yes,” he answered rather smugly.
She wanted to slap the attitude off his face. But she managed to keep the sweet tone. “Why don’t you come with me, Arnold?” Jen held out her hand for him to take. “Let me give you a ride home.”
“Why would my father have you pick me up? This don’t make sense cuz I usually walk home by myself.”
“You are a clever little boy, aren’t you? But I would really like to give you a ride home. Come with me, why don’t you?”
“It’s all right, lady. Thanks anyway, I like to walk.”
“Call me Jen.”
“Uh…Jen, thanks, but I like to walk. Well, I gotta be going.”
“You really don’t need to walk.” He flinched and she warned herself to back off a little. Wouldn’t pay for an alert stranger to come running. She could feel Derrick’s eyes boring into her spine. Hurry up, he was saying.
“It’s okay, I’m cool.”
Jen let the boy pass. He crossed the street, even though the light was red. There were no cars passing by on the road.
“Impudent little shit.”
Jen removed the real cell phone from her belt and flipped it open. “All right, we tried this the easy way and it didn’t work. Let’s go with the hard way.”
Immediately, the van’s motor roared to life. It sped from the curb and, instead of pulling up beside her and letting her in, it raced toward the retreating ten-year-old. It stopped next to him.
Realizing something serious was abreast, Arnold ran. The van followed, keeping pace. Jen wondered what that dumb-ass Derrick would do if the kid rabbited between the apartment buildings. Suddenly, the side door flew open. Sanaga leaped out. He dove on Arnold, slamming him face-first to the sidewalk.
As the van came to a complete stop, Arnold managed to squeeze from under Sanaga and leap to his feet. He started running. Jen did too. Damn if Sanaga was going to let the kid get away. Why the hell wasn’t Jorge getting out?
Before the boy’s sneakers made two running steps, Sanaga swept his right leg sideways, knocking the boy’s feet from under him. Arnold went back down hard. Jen could practically hear his nose splat on the concrete sidewalk. In one motion, Sanaga was back on his feet. He took hold of Arnold’s jacket and lifted the kid off the ground. He wrapped one hand around the back of Arnold’s collar; the other clutched the waistband of the boy’s pants. Like a sack of trash, Sanaga tossed Arnold into the open door of the van and climbed in himself.
By this time, Jen had reached the van. She heaved herself into the passenger door and shouted, “Let’s go!”
Derrick gunned the engine. The van lurched away from the sidewalk, tires squealing.
“So what happened to the motherly approach?” Derrick asked.
“What can I tell you, I guess I’m just not the motherly type.”
Arnold struggled into a sitting position. He trembled; his eyes as wide as saucers. The blue eyes widened even further when he spotted Jorge’s rifle pointing at him from across the floor. Sanaga crouched on his haunches and removed a shiny knife from a holster attached to the right side of his belt.
“Are you holding me for ransom?” Arnold asked.
How astute of him to figure this out so quickly. Jen almost remarked on the kid’s intelligence. Then again, in this day and age, you heard of kidnappings just about every day.
“In a manner of speaking,” Jen said, looking at him over her shoulder.
“For your sake, kid,” Derrick warned, “I sure hope your father loves you more than he loves his work.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough,” Jen added.
Jen got out of her seat and stepped over Arnold’s outstretched legs. At the back of the van, she retrieved a large brown sack, the kind groceries used to come in, before they decided to start loading the landfills with the plastic jobs. From the bag, she drew out a rope. A nice cotton job, a half-inch thick. It was hard to find cotton these days. All the hardware stores sold the nylon shit, but it was too hard to tie in a knot. Too hard to keep tied. She handed the twelve-foot length to Sanaga.
“Wrap him up.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Mid-afternoon—Doctor Obenchain’s visit was long over. Rick stepped into Mr. Royal’s class. The teacher sat in his chair, peering across the class at his students with disdain. He turned the same disdainful expression on Rick, as though asking why he was interrupting such a productive class. Productive? Some students copied from the board. Others gazed at them with complete disinterest. One male student sat in back wearing a blank stare, one of the children Rick had come to silently refer to as “the zombies.” An adult aide sat next to “the zombie.” She placed a pencil in the boy’s hand and held his fingers closed around it.
“Who are you here for?
” Royal stood up from his desk.
The children all looked at Rick as if hoping to be the one taken out of class. That respite, however short, was welcome. “Clara, please,” Rick said.
Clara let off a sigh of relief. She stood up, closed the notebook on her desk, and hurried toward where Rick held open the door.
“Clara!” Mister Royal’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “I have not dismissed you!”
Clara stood frozen, eyes wide, instantly angry. Her top lip began to quiver. She didn’t look at him, only at Rick, silently pleading for help. He watched Royal, unsure what power game the teacher was playing.
The stare-down lasted several tense moments. No one spoke. There wasn’t even a rustle of paper. “Okay, you may go,” Royal finally said.
Clara moved again, still without looking at her teacher. Rick lifted his arm so she could pass under. It seemed as though neither of them breathed until that classroom door snicked shut.
“How’s everything?” Rick asked as they walked toward the therapy suite.
“Not good at all. I’m going to wild out if he calls me crazy or psychotic one more time. I swear.”
Clara’s full understanding and insight into her own feelings and emotions impressed Rick. She articulated them very well. If only she could control those emotions as well as she understood them.
“Hold it together, Clara. Don’t focus on the negative, stay cool and calm no matter what you may be feeling inside.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Rick noticed Miller standing by the door of the main office. She had her arms crossed and observed the two of them.
“Did you talk to Miss Miller about…you know?” Clara whispered.
“Yes.”
Although Rick didn’t out and out answer the question, his tone of voice must’ve answered for him. Clara let out a loud sigh. “I knew that bitch would say no!” She spoke loudly, not in her usual low voice.
Rick spun his head around to see if Miller had heard. The director still stood in the doorway, but she was now having a conversation with Sharon Hefner, who nodded her head with vigor. From there, he couldn’t make out what they were saying.
A door opened near them and a female staff aide led an older boy through the hallway. Rick recognized the boy as Tyrell Birkins, the one who had challenged Miller on his first day in the facility. He now wore a blank stare as the aide helped him compensate for his stiff joints as they walked.
Almost to the therapy suite, and into safe territory, Rick realized Miller had broke off with Hefner and strode in their direction. He found himself speeding up, like a child in the schoolyard trying to prevent the bully from catching up to him.
“Mr. Rasner!” Miller barked just before he reached his office.
Clara cursed. Rick cringed, stopped, and turned Miller’s way. Clara did the same. Miller’s heels made no sound on the cement floor as she marched ever closer. She came to a halt in front of them. Clara took a half-step behind him. He didn’t blame her, he wished they’d reached his office and locked the door. Sweat gathered under his collar.
“Yes, Miss Miller?” Rick asked, hoping the conversation would end quickly and painlessly. The appearance of her eyes suggested otherwise. Her cheeks tight, her lips—which he just realized were pretty shapely—downturned. As the silence stretched, his nerves jangled inside his head. He pressed two fingers to his temple, expecting the throbbing to begin at any moment. Clara’s arm rested against his and he felt her tense up. What sort of role model was he being for Clara? Wasn’t he doing the same thing as her by standing there waiting for the bomb to drop? What else could he do?
Miller’s gaze shifted over his shoulder. Though he didn’t turn to look, he knew Clara rolled her eyes in defiance. Damn, the girl had more balls than him.
“I hope you informed this child,” Miller said, “that we will not be bending the rules by moving her to another class.”
“We’re on our way to my office now, Miss Miller. We will be discussing just that.”
Miller sensed his uneasiness. He could tell by the smirk that decorated the corners of her mouth. And she reveled in it. Rick wondered if Obenchain had really been taken in by her smooth niceties.
“Well, you do so immediately!” Miller’s bark made both he and Clara jump. “While you’re at it, discuss her homicidal ideations.”
“Ma’am?” What the hell was she talking about?
Miller turned her gaze to Clara. “Step out here like the adult you keep saying you are.”
Clara did as asked, moving from behind Rick. She shot the woman a look of unvarnished disgust. Rick wanted to smile. At least someone tried to stand up to the director. Trouble was, standing up to her wasn’t the right way to handle things. Rick shot Clara a warning look—be calm.
“I believe,” began Miller, “that during your last visit, you informed Mr. Rasner you want to ‘kill that bitch so bad’, referring to me?”
How the hell did she know what Clara had said to him? Their talks were supposed to be in strictest confidence. Clara was thinking the same thing. She took a step away from him and now eyed him. Her breathing turned erratic—fast and shallow.
Miller waited a moment, probably expecting an outburst. Truth be told, so was Rick. “That sort of insolence will not be tolerated in this facility AT ALL.”
“You told her what I said?” Clara shouted at him.
“No! I never—I…don’t…”
“The members of my staff are not here to appease a patient’s psychotic threats of murder and violence!” Miller poked Clara in the shoulder with her left forefinger.
Clara may or may not have heard the words. Her wide brown eyes locked on Rick. His thoughts clouded with words trying to escape his mouth—some to protest Miller’s behavior, others to assure Clara he had not been disloyal to her. Any moment he expected her to break away from them and take off. But where would she go? Officer James stood permanent guard at the exit.
“It is this violent attitude of yours that will assure you never see the outside of this institution.” Miller poked Clara again. Miller’s demeaning tone was loud enough to be heard throughout the hallway. Royal appeared outside his classroom. James closed the distance between them while the aide helping Tyrell stopped to watch the “show.”
Clara gazed down at the shoulder Miller had poked. Her jaw clenched. Rick feared that any moment she’d slug the woman.
Finally, Rick found his voice. “Maybe we all need to calm down…”
“If you are going to get anything out of my facility, Clara, it will be the concept of respect.” She reached up to poke Clara again.
“Don’t touch me!” Clara slapped Miller’s hand away. It was just the reaction Miller had been waiting for.
Miller nodded at Officer James, who was more than halfway to them. The large officer stepped up to Clara, put his chest against her face, and backed her away. “You’re getting on the floor right now,” James said in a growl.
“This really isn’t necessary,” Rick pleaded.
Clara’s breathing became heavier, her body shook in a way that expressed a combination of anxiety, rage, and helplessness. Rick stepped between Clara and the guard, anxious to lead her away before things went totally haywire.
Officer James placed his massive hand on Rick’s chest and shoved him backward. “Excuse me,” he said as he nudged Rick back.
Clara began with a mumble. “Leave me alone. Leave me alone! LEAVE ME ALONE!” She ended in a shout that reverberated along the brick walls.
“You are a sick young lady, Miss Blue,” Miller shouted, “and it is our job to help you gain a semblance of control before you hurt yourself—or others.”
Clara’s fists clenched. She took a step back and then tried to charge past Officer James. The huge guard’s arms shot up. His big hands wrapped around her skinny arms and pinned them to her sides.
Clara struggled against the restraint; her eyes on Miller. “I want to hurt you, bitch!”
James slammed Clara against
the wall. He removed his left hand from her right arm and placed it across her throat.
Rick tried again, to calm things. “Listen, everyone, if we could all please stop for a moment and just…”
But no one was listening.
“Ms. Hefner.” Miller said. “Get Doctor Barnes out here immediately. I want the patient sedated and placed in seclusion. She will remain in there until I decide she is ready to be released.”
The head of security was already on her way to them. “I’m on it, Miss Miller.” Hefner unclipped her walkie-talkie and pressed the button. “Doctor Barnes, code four,” she said into the mouthpiece, “Meet us in the hallway.” Hefner released the button and re-hooked the walkie-talkie. Then she hurried toward them.
Clara somehow managed to slip away from her grizzly bear-like aggressor. She spun away and tried to run. But after just two steps, she twisted around and charged at Hefner, propelling her shoulder into the guard’s midsection. The impact sent both off balance. Hefner tumbled against the wall, her head taking most of the impact. The much lighter Clara dropped to the floor where Officer James tackled her. He managed to flip her onto her stomach and coiled both arms behind her back.
“Doctor Barnes, over here.” Hefner shouted, one hand holding the back of her head.
The doctor hurried from his office, loaded syringe in hand. Clara screamed. Her words were mostly incoherent, but there was no doubt what she was saying. Saliva poured from the corners of her mouth; the teen looked like a rabid dog. Her strength seemed to have no end as she struggled against James’ confinement. Hefner recovered enough to heave herself atop the thrashing girl also.
Doctor Barnes ran to them as he had done many times with many patients. He jabbed the needle in Clara’s outstretched arm and released the liquid into her bloodstream.
It didn’t take long for Clara’s fight to abate. James stood up, stretching his spine, and rubbing it with one hand. He then bent and took hold of Clara’s right wrist. Hefner stood, took Clara’s left wrist, and lifted her up. The two dragged the comatose Clara toward the seclusion room, her faded pink and white Nike heels scuffing the floor. Rick followed, wishing he’d done, or tried to do, more. This whole situation shouldn’t have happened. If only they’d been able to get into his office.
The Rasner Effect Page 14
